Good Theatrical Run, Bad Closing Night
by bsloths
Summary: Tootsie, post-movie. Sandy no longer wants to be a doormat. Oneshot. Hints of future Jeff/Sandy.


As far as I can tell, this is the only _Tootsie_ fic on FFnet. It's one of my all-time favorite movies. I watch it about once a year, but I've never watched it from a shipping POV, so I was never inclined to write a story for it. But unoriginal-elizabeth and I were talking (way back in summer '09, I think) about the idea of Jeff/Sandy … and it intrigued me. So I promised her I'd write this, and I finally, finally decided to post it. Sorry it took so long, Liz!

As far as I can tell, we never learn what Jeff's play "Return to the Love Canal" is actually about. I'm assuming it's a reference to Love Canal, NY, the site of an investigation over the dumping of tons of chemical waste in a residential neighborhood. Knowing Jeff, it's some sort of pun set in that neighborhood but actually about reestablishing a relationship. Or something. We'll go with that, yeah?

Enjoy!

-Brandi

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that I didn't make up myself.

**Good Theatrical Run, Bad Closing Night **

"You're supposed to love me until the day I die. It was in our wedding vows. A promise between us. Between … between …" Sandy gulped, blinding rage erasing the lines she had carefully memorized months ago, and performed on stage every night. Her mistake had been to look out at the audience. She gazed at the tall blonde in the front row and her expression clouded with anger. How dare she show up! It was closing night, for God's sake. The floozy couldn't stay mad at Michael for one more night?

"Between two people who are meant—" Michael whispered, when she didn't finish the line.

"Between two people who are meant for each other," Sandy repeated, gaining her confidence back as her eyes strayed from the bimbo to lock on Michael. He nodded in relief, not having noticed what had broken his costar's concentration.

More lines were said, more props used, more gestures articulated, but Sandy managed to keep from looking at the front row again. They returned to the love canal, the play ended, the audience applauded. Sandy went through the motions, collecting flowers from a couple of die-hard fans, accepting congratulations, exchanging hugs with the rest of the cast. Then that was it. It was over. And Man-Stealing Barbie had ruined her last night.

"Champagne toast," Jeff called, passing around flutes and doing a bit of a happy dance.

Suddenly Barbie was upon them, and Sandy choked on the champagne she was currently inhaling.

"You were wonderful. It was wonderful!" she cooed at Michael, and he beamed. Sandy felt the beginnings of nausea rock her abdomen.

"Jeff, you remember Julie," Michael pointed to Jeff, who saluted. "And Julie, this is Sandy." Julie stuck out a hand toward her and smiled.

Sandy couldn't meet her eyes. She mumbled an "Excuse me," and pushed through the still-crowded backstage towards the door.

She stepped outside into the chilly Syracuse air, wishing she had thought to grab her coat. "Oh, dammit," she wailed as the door slammed shut behind her. She had forgotten that it locked from the inside.

Downing the rest of her champagne, she trudged to the concrete stoop. At least she was away from Little Miss Perfect. Michael seemed to think so, anyway.

She wasn't quite sure why she still cared. Michael had manipulated her, used her, betrayed her, stolen her role, and yet she couldn't be angry with him. As irrational as it was, she was mostly angry with herself. And now, with the tall, leggy slut for taking Michael back, and showing up at _her_ play.

The play had been a moderate success, running for almost two months at the Syracuse Playhouse. Jeff had been commissioned to write a pilot for ABC, and Michael was riding his residual Dorothy Michaels fame to a small part in an independent film. The show had even garnered Sandy a few auditions, one of which she landed, a shampoo commercial.

So her life was going pretty well. If she could just let go of Michael, things would be perfect.

The door opened behind her, and she was so lost in thought that it made her jump.

"I want to be alone," she told whoever it was.

"We all want things we can't have," Jeff said, and just to be sure she registered his double meaning, he added, "Julie's not so bad, you know."

"Apparently, she's fantastic, according to Michael," Sandy growled, not in the mood for Jeff's pity.

"Well, yeah. Everyone in love wears rose-colored glasses," he replied with a shrug, unintentionally wounding her pride further by mentioning their oh-so-sickening _love_.

"Go away, please," she whined, not even bothering to be polite. She didn't have the energy.

Instead of doing what she asked, Jeff sat down next to her on the stoop.

She looked up in surprise as he patted her knee awkwardly. "It sucks. I know. But you've got to stop being so damn mopey. It's a real buzzkill."

So he wasn't here for pity. He was going to spew more of his self-righteous bullshit.

"You have no idea how I feel, so stop acting like you do. I'm really not in the mood for this."

Jeff shifted away from her and ran a hand through his hair. "Diane dumped me."

Sandy bristled. Was he seriously that dense? This was not the time to play 'who's got it worse.'

Then it hit her. He truly was trying to empathize. Go figure.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said shortly. Then, when he stayed quiet, she asked, "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"She ran off with her tennis instructor. I'm a friggin' cliché."

"Well, I'm sorry," she said again, more warmly this time. "Love. _Ha_."

"Yeah. Love." He smiled tentatively at her. "Ironic."

Sighing, she took the bait. "What's ironic?"

"Here we are celebrating the success of a show all about finding love once lost, and we've gone in the opposite direction."

"Huh." She digested that, content to sit with him in silence for a few moments. Acting out a love affair with Michael on stage every night could have been either the most- or the least-cathartic path to take. Unfortunately, it had been the latter.

"We're better off, though. I didn't need to be with a girl who plays _tennis_." He put a derogatory stress on the last word, like the sport was to blame.

"I guess you're right. I mean, Michael _did_ lie to me," she allowed, refusing to get worked up over what he had lied _about_.

"Lying, cheating, cross-dressing, that's our Mike," Jeff teased.

She arched her eyebrows. "It's not a joke." As far as she was concerned, Dorothy Michaels was just one black spot in their history together. She was dead and gone, for good. Especially now that the harpy was back in Michael's life.

"You didn't have to _live_ with Dorothy," Jeff insisted. "Michael's life became a comic farce. I couldn't have written it better myself."

"Good thing you don't write comedies, then," Sandy grumbled.

"You know what your problem is? You never got angry."

"Of course I did," she huffed. "I was royally pissed off." She tossed her hair, as if that reinforced her point.

"Yeah, for about a minute," Jeff qualified. "But you went right back to being Michael's doormat friend. Julie stayed mad for a solid three months, and he didn't even sleep with _her_."

"How dare you!" Sandy's eyes flashed, but Jeff held her gaze. "Why are you being such a jerk?" She added as an afterthought, "And I am _not_ a doormat!"

Jeff raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"I love him, Jeffrey," she spat. "I can't just turn emotions on and off like you can."

It was an empty insult and she knew it, but Jeff had no right to tell her such things.

"Am I wrong?" Jeff persisted. "I think you're almost back to being royally pissed again. Let it out, San!" He smacked his fist into his thigh.

Sandy growled in frustration. "What good is being angry going to do?"

"Are you kidding me?" Jeff balked. "He got the job. He got the fans. He got the _girl_—he got his happily ever after. What did _you_ get? A role opposite him in my crappy play."

Sandy's mouth dropped open. She was overwhelmed by Jeff's assessment—he was so _right_. But she was also curious. Why did Jeff care? She asked him as much.

Jeff sighed. "Look. I'm Michael's best friend. The guy is tons of fun. But sometimes, too many times, I've let him get away with being a dick. And bringing Julie tonight, to _your_ show, was kind of a dick move. He knows exactly how you feel about him and yet he keeps you around, torturing you."

Sandy was about to respond, but Jeff was on a roll. "And you just take it, Sandy. That's what kills me. You'll never grow as an actress because you'll always compare yourself to him. You'll never find a guy because you're too busy cooking him dinner and worrying about his happiness. You guys have such a toxic relationship. It sickens me to watch."

Sandy was speechless. Jeff had just watered the seed of resentment that had started growing the moment she and Michael had sex. She knew she had been utterly used and cast aside, but until this moment she had had no idea what a doormat she really was. She had always thought she wasn't good enough. But maybe it was Michael who wasn't. She had given everything to that man, in exchange for what? Free acting lessons and heartache.

Her cheeks burned and she turned away from Jeff. He kept talking.

"I know I'm being too blunt. But I've wanted to say it for months. You may be a doormat, but you deserve better."

Sandy's eyes filled with tears as she breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm herself. "Thank you, Jeff. I think." She looked at him through her tears and her lip quivered, but she didn't want to cry in front of Jeff.

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Oh, go ahead. I think I have a tissue here somewhere." He dug one out of his pocket just as Sandy erupted into sobs, the messy, honking, gulping kind she was best at.

Jeff patted her back and futilely wiped at her eyes with his tissue as she bawled.

"Feel better?" he asked as her tears finally subsided.

"That is the last time I will ever cry over Michael," Sandy vowed, really meaning it. Jeff had given her the wake-up call she needed.

Steeling herself, she stood, rubbed her eyes, and wiped at her nose, hoping she looked somewhat presentable. "Come on," she motioned to Jeff, who stood as well, looking puzzled.

He had remembered to put the stopper in the door, so they made their way back inside the theater.

Sandy marched purposefully toward the cast and crew and their lingering admirers, knowing that if she didn't do this now, she never would.

"Michael," she said, tapping him on the shoulder.

He turned around, looking mildly glad to see her. "Hey, Sandy."

She put a finger up to his face, but quickly removed it, deciding that scolding was too dramatic a gesture. "Don't 'hey sandy' me. I need to tell you something." She didn't give him a chance to reply. "We are finished, Michael. I mean it this time. I don't want to be your friend anymore. I don't want to meet your new girlfriend," she miraculously didn't make a face at the word, "and I am certainly done taking acting advice from you. I may never be Meryl Streep, but at least I'll have my dignity."

"What—" Michael began, confused.

"You brought her to _our _play. The girl who, for all intents and purposes, you cheated on me with. That is just one in a long line of egregious, insensitive actions you have perpetrated against me throughout our friendship, and I am _finished_. Don't call me, don't try to see me. Maybe one day I will forgive you, but today is not that day. No matter what, we cannot be friends anymore."

She turned on her heel and walked slowly, calmly away. She had kept her voice level the entire time and her eyes were dry. Michael called her name once in that whiny way he had, but didn't come after her.

That told her all she needed to know: She had done the right thing.

She was just out the main door when Jeff caught up to her. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I respect you so much right now."

Sandy managed a smile. "Thank you." It was the second time that night she had thanked him, and she couldn't help but feel a wave of affection for him. What a good guy. She needed more of those in her life.

"Want to go get a cup of coffee?" Jeff asked eagerly.

Sandy wrinkled her nose. "What is the deal, Jeff? I appreciate you talking to me tonight, but we're not really friends."

Jeff shrugged. "Maybe not, but we do have something in common, don't we? You know, misery loves company, and all that."

Sandy blinked. He was serious. "Jeff, I don't know if us spending time together is a good idea. This sort of sounds like a date."

"I'm proposing coffee, not marriage." He smiled.

Sandy mulled it over. Being alone with Jeff didn't have to be a big deal. But she kind of wanted it to be, for a reason she couldn't quite identify. "All right. You sold me. Let's go."

They walked toward the nearby 24-hour diner in companionable silence, and Sandy breathed a sigh of relief into the night air, still a little giddy at her triumph over Michael.

From now on, she would be her own woman, making decisions based on no one's happiness but her own.


End file.
